A Letter

I have been reading and fathoming Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism. As far as brain injury is concerned: I remember not existing before I was able to start remembering who I was. The anger that came in the summer came from the lack of existence in myself. A question first of 'what' I was, before “who” I was was attainable. This site details somewhat of Existentialism’s poignancy:

Not an easy read; but an important one (I think) of experiencing oneself again.

I think I was at the stage of existential need when I started to run away from the hospital. I used to worry the staff by running off into the woods and streets. I was proving my own existence to them. Difficult times.

The words “find comfort in pain” from an unknown quote will not sound pleasant, but they worked true. Pain makes you think: a realisation of what is wrong, and thereby what must be done to fix oneself. A remembrance of what life used to be about. What it is like to exist. And anger (I remember it) as a way of proving one’s existence (to oneself and others). That was one of the reasons I said “no”, and “no” repeatedly, to the medical drugs they continually offered.

A key paragraph in that link page is the one entitled: ‘Existentialism in psychotherapy’.

But I can say that Existentialism is the beginning of self-recognition. Which is itself the start of recognising others.

Now let’s play cricket…. ;)

To Courtney, you are my Honour.